White Brick House
by I-Plead-Contemporary-Insanity
Summary: Callum is five years old, and is convinced he was part of a family in a previous life - a family who are now staking claims and drawing him back to their old family home, from beyond the grave. The Doctor and Rose must uncover the mystery, and fast, if they wish to save him. Yet when they're forced to face their feelings for each other head on, it won't be an easy feat. Doctor/Rose


**OK. Guys, I need some legitimate help. I've just had some bacon and eggs, right? Finished up, sat down at my desk, took out my pens, took out my revision books for the Uni finals I should be desperately cramming for, whipped out my laptop – all with a positive attitude to actually do some work, like COME AT ME BRAH I'M GOING TO WORK SO HARD and then I logged into fanfiction to read some of my OTP fanfics, lost three hours of my life, and decided I might as well go all the way to complete my imminent academic suicide. I read through all the embarrassing previous stories I'd written when I was a die-hard fan girl baby (we've all been there, it's like the cringiest moment in our lives, agreed?) and then decided to write a new fanfiction. **

**A new one.**

**I'm failing my exams, aren't I? I'm not going to get any help here, am I?**

**Sigh.**

**In all seriousness, I got a pretty powerful burst of inspiration for a lengthy story, and thought I'd work on it now and through the Summer alongside a novella project.**

**Please enjoy. My potentially decent grades went into this.**

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PROLOGUE

"My darling little boy." Sam stroked the hair on her sons head down smooth, held him close to her chest as his face crumpled.

"They keep talking to me, Mum. When I go to sleep – they say they miss me." His buried his face in the soft cotton of her pyjamas.

"Hush now, sweetheart." She murmured. She pushed him back down into bed and tucked him under the thick duvet. She tucked his stuffed rabbit by him also. "They're just dreams. They're only dreams."

She gently thumbed away the tears that clung to his cheeks.

"Try to get some sleep, there's a good boy. You have school tomorrow."

She gave his cheek one last loving stroke and stood up from the bed, padding around to the door to go back to bed herself. Things would be better in the morning.

"Mum?" She heard Callum call softly out to her. She turned around to look at him from the doorway.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

He paused for a moment before he spoke, snuggling deeper into his pillow and closer his rabbit.

"I miss them, too."

This was too much for her. Sam smiled bravely, and almost felt tears of her own threatening to show themselves. The effort of keeping them in made her eyes string and her throat ache. She couldn't bring herself say anything to him, and so with a careful nod she turned away and silently left the room. She took care to leave the light on.

Callum closed his eyes and went to sleep.

_My little boy_, Sam thought tearfully as she threw up her covers and slipped into bed by her sleeping husband. _My little boy is going mad._

There was only so far a five-year olds imagination could stray. This was clearly several notches too far. The things he talked about during the day, the dreams he had. About his 'other family'.

He talked about them constantly. His father Sean, who'd died in a car accident when he was four. His three brothers and sisters, and the black-and-white sheepdog they played with at the beach by the rock-pool at the bottom of their house. That white brick house, with the secret fence and runaway garden. His _'other Mummy'._

Sam squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn't normal. All day, it was all he talked about. Of course at first she'd asked questions, and laughed with her husband when Callum burst forth with a new funny tale to tell them, played along. She chalked it up to his having a brilliant and colourful mind, and decided to make the most of it. Kids only stayed kids for so long, didn't they?

But then it overtook him.

He woke up screaming for them in the night. He would jabber on at breakfast, and dinner, and bedtime, things he hadn't done, things Sam _knew _he'd never done_,_ which he insisted he had, which he insisted were real memories.

"You don't know about them because _you_ weren't there, Mum."

It worried her after a while. But not like it did now. It had only started to scare her – _really scare her_ – when she picked him up after school and the teachers stopped to have a chat with her while Callum went to retrieve his coat and bag, asking how she'd enjoyed the holiday they'd been on in the Summer.

"Lucky thing," They'd laughed. "Gallivanting off while we've been stuck working all these two months!"

Cash had been a bit tight, Sam replied confused, she'd only taken Callum and his brother to the park or for a day out to the cinema for the odd special treat. They'd mostly played at home together, in their rooms or in the garden, and they'd seemed just as happy as if they'd gone abroad.

But Callum had told them all about the white bricked house by the coast, they replied, equally puzzled. He'd told them so many stories about his Mum, and about how he'd played at the beach that - they'd assumed it had been a getaway holiday. He kept writing all sorts of imaginative things about it in his literacy books, even.

She flicked through them that night after he'd gone to bed, and when she couldn't take in his vivid accounts of his other life any longer, she'd dropped it on the table and left it there.

Not long after that, little Callum withdrew into himself. He became emotionally unstable, and kept things to himself. He would be quiet and sad one minute, happy and energetic the next. His mood swings seemed to bewilder even himself.

"They miss me, Mum." He started to tell her, in his quiet moments, always tearing up and staring at her with those sad brown eyes. "They want me to come home. I have to go back."

"Now don't be silly." She would always reply firmly. "We're your family. You belong here at home, with _us_." She refused to directly acknowledge his stories anymore. She persuaded herself that perhaps if she did not acknowledge them, he'd forget. They'd go away. It was just a phase.

It was unsettling and made her so fearful. She was so scared. So scared that maybe – maybe every so often, she'd catch herself believing him. That this phantom family wanted her son. She'd hold him to her tightly and think so strongly _you can't have him you can't have him you can't have him. _And he clung to her just as tight, as though he knew what she was thinking and had no words to offer, only the comfort of his little arms wrapped around her.

Sam couldn't sleep. She stayed awake. She stayed awake and watched as the light slipped slyly through the windows and shone on her face, telling her it was morning.

_You can't have him._

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_Callum…_

_Callum, we're here…we're waiting for you…_

_We miss you so much, Callum…we miss you so so much…_

_Come home, Callum, we're waiting here for you…_

_Callum, we need you, we need you here…_

_Help us._

Callum woke up, the whispering still at his ears.

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**And so begins an epic journey. I'm rather happy to be working on this, as it's one of those times where you have a perfect plot all planned out in your head, and you know it's going to work out perfectly.**

**The more reviews I get throughout this story, the more encouragement I feel I am getting to continue! **

**NOTE: I'm very much in need of a beta, so if there's any offers – my arms are open.**

**Thank you for reading!**

"_You are charged with contemporary insanity. How do you plea?"_

"_Guilty. Oh, completely and utterly. No denying it. Completely barmy, me."_

_*Holds out hands.*_

"_May as well cuff me straight up."_


End file.
